


Taking a Stand

by thegraytigress



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Captain America as an Idol, Gen, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-07-10 14:43:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6989521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegraytigress/pseuds/thegraytigress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A chance encounter at the Captain America exhibit shows one kid just what it takes to be a hero.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taking a Stand

**Author's Note:**

> **DISCLAIMER:** _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_ is the property of Walt Disney Studios, Paramount Studios, and Marvel Studios. This work was created purely for enjoyment. No money was made, and no infringement was intended.
> 
>  **RATING:** G
> 
>  **AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Well, this is for all the kids out there who may be facing a rough patch because of the HydraCap stuff. While I do firmly believe the writers are going to fix this, I think their stunt was particularly hard on little ones who can't understand that things will get better and that this will blow over and that it's all part of a bigger story arc to show just how much of a hero Steve is (at least it better be). So this is for you guys. Don't let anyone define Captain America for you. He's _yours_ to define for yourself. If Steve's taught us anything, it's that.

It’s not every day I get to see my hero up close.  This is as up close as you can get.

The Captain America exhibit is really busy because it’s summer and that’s what people do in the summer: go to museums and things.  I’m here with my family, my dad and my little sister and me.  My little sister is real little for her age.  She barely comes up to my chest, so dad keeps having to lift her up to see everything.

And there’s lots to see.  Everything here is amazing.  Captain America the soldier.  Captain America the Avenger.  Captain America the hero.  Bicycles and toys and things from when he was a kid.  Loads of stuff from World War II.  The Howling Commandos.  Cap’s star-spangled uniform.  Things from the Battle of New York.  It’s so cool, seeing all this.  It’s like seeing Captain America himself.  It’s not _really_ him, but it’s so close that it’s real.  It’s awesome, and I’ve got my Cap shirt on, and I’m so excited.  I’ve waited all summer, a tough school year, and now I’m here!

My sister keeps asking all sorts of dumb questions, though.  I already know the answers.  So does my dad, but he keeps telling her anyway.  “How come Cap’n America’s a hero?” she says.

“Because he saves people, honey.”

“How come he saves people?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do, and that’s what he does.”

“Isn’t it hard?”

“Sure, it is.  It hurts sometimes.  But that’s what makes him who he is.  He fights for people who can’t fight for themselves.”

We walk around and look at the things.  There’s so much to see, and there are things about Cap everywhere.  About how small and sick he was when he was a kid in Brooklyn.  About his best friend who stood by him and fought in World War II with him.  About the Avengers, Iron Man and Thor and the Hulk.  About all the times he risked his life to rescue other soldiers or his friends or people he didn’t even know.  There are lots of times.  I’ve read about them in books and things.  I know everything about him, because Cap’s not just a hero.  He’s my hero.  I watched on TV when he fought the aliens in New York and got people out of trouble.  I knew right there, with my little sister with me, that that’s what I wanted to be.  The other Avengers are really great; don’t get me wrong.  But Captain America’s special.  “He’s just an ordinary man, but he’s the best in all of us,” Dad says to my little sister.  “That’s why he’s so important.”

“I think his outfit looks kinda funny,” my sister says, and my dad laughs and agrees.  It makes me a little mad; she’s always making fun of things I like.  But then she got knocked down by accident when we came in by some bigger kids running around – I think it was an accident.  I also think the kids were from school, but I didn’t get a good look.  Anyway she cried a lot, so Dad’s been extra careful about her feelings since.  She’s sensitive.  I know, because I used to be.  “How come he’s got a shield?”

Dad smiles at me and ruffles my hair.  I make a face and pull away.  “Because it’s like I said.  He protects people.”

“All the time?”

“All the time.”

We keep going.  There’s a big mural of Captain America saluting our country’s flag.  A voice is talking.  _“A symbol to the nation.  A hero to the world.  The story of Captain America is one of honor, bravery, and sacrifice.”_   I stand next to some displays that show Captain America when he was little before he got the serum.  He was really little.  _Really little._   Everywhere there are kids looking at it, kids in Captain America costumes and shirts with shields and toys and it’s amazing.  I know it’s stupid to be embarrassed about liking something like I do, but I always am.  Kids are mean.  Right here, I’m just like everybody else, though.  I look around and feel so happy.

My sister talks with another girl, and when the picture behind them suddenly shows how big Cap got with the super soldier serum, they get jump and turn around, breathing a “wow” in awe.  I’m not watching, though.

There’s a man in the crowd.  He looks like a normal guy, with a blue cap and a blue jacket and blue jeans.  But his face looks just like the one in my books, the one on the mural, the one on all of the pictures everywhere around us.  I can’t believe it.  Maybe I’m imagining it.

But no.  The man looks at me, too.  Smiles knowingly.  Puts his finger to his lips in a silent “shhh”.  _It’s really him._

I nod, I think.  I don’t know.  I’m kind of beyond thinking.  I stand there and watch him smile again and walk away.

I can’t keep from telling my dad about it, though, even though I’m not supposed to.  When we finished with the exhibit and go back upstairs, I talk and talk.  I’m so excited, my heart’s just pounding.  “He was _there_ , Dad, right in the crowd.  He looked right at me.  He didn’t want me to tell!”

“So how come you’re tellin’?” my little sister asks petulantly.

I get mad.  “’cause it’s Captain America!  It was so cool.  I really saw him, Dad.  Honest.”

My dad just bobs his head and smiles as we step out into the bright, sunny summer day.  I can tell he doesn’t believe me.  “Sure, you did, kiddo.”

Nobody ever believes me about anything, I think.  Not my parents or my teachers or kids at school.  They’re the worst, the other kids.  They pick on me, have for years.  They pick on my little sister, too.  I don’t like admitting it, but we’re _both_ small for our age.  “I’m not lying!  I’m not making it up, either!”

“I’m sure it was just someone who looks like him,” Dad insists.  “That’s kinda the point, isn’t it?  That anyone can be as good as Captain America?”  I roll my eyes, my spirits tanking.  Maybe that’s true, but there’s only one Captain America, _and I saw him._

Down the street there’s a little restaurant.  We stop there for lunch, and Dad leaves us outside by the tables and benches to go in and order our food.  My sister’s feet don’t reach the street, and she sits on a bench, swinging them and talking about _My Little Ponies_ and _Frozen_ for the millionth time.  She likes singing, and she likes Elsa, and she’s starting in again.  It’s not too loud, and it’s not so bad, but I’m not in the mood for it.  “Quit it.”

She frowns and pouts. “I can sing if I want.”

“Yeah, but not here.  And no one can stand that song anymore.”

“Not fair.  We did your dumb thing.  I wanna–”

Suddenly a couple kids come by, big shadows stretching over us, and I look up and see they were at the museum.  They were the ones who knocked her down when we got there, I think.  They’re definitely from school, too, older kids in an older grade.  And they’re big.  Really big.  _Really big._   The one sneers as he passes, watching us like a hungry lion, and starts singing too, shrill and really off key and so mean about it.  My sister stops right away, face going red and then white, and looks horrified.  “It’s a shrimp squeaking,” one of the other kids says as they pass.  They all join in, really making fun of her now, and her eyes fill with tears.

And I’m so sick of it.  It was a whole school year of being picked on.  And it’s summer now, and this was supposed to be fun, and she shouldn’t have to deal with it.  So I’m not even thinking, because my heart’s beating real fast again and I need to _do_ something, and I’m hopping to my feet and saying, “Leave her alone.  She’s not doing anything to you.”

This is how bullies are.  The minute you put yourself in their line of fire, they fire and fire and I hate it.  But I can’t just let it go on anymore.  It’s happened to me too much.  It shouldn’t have to happen to her, no matter how much of a pest she is!  So when they turn around and come toward me, I try not to be afraid and bite my lower lip and stand as tall as I can, which isn’t very tall at all.  It never is.  “Quit it,” I manage.  “It’s not nice.”

“Yeah?” one of the kids said.  They stand in front of me.  “Who’re you, her keeper?  A bigger shrimp taking care of a little shrimp?  And what’s with the stupid shirt?”  The largest one jabs me in the chest with a finger, shoving me back like I’m nothing.  “You wanna start something?”

“I want you to leave my sister alone,” I say.  “You pushed her before in the Smithsonian.  I saw it.  That wasn’t nice.  Stop bothering her.”

“It was an accident,” the kid said, eyes alight with the promise of hurting someone.  “Don’t you know an accident when you see one?”

I swallowed, gulped more like.  My sister was hiding behind me now, shaking and crying.  That alone made me stand taller, because I know what that feels like, how much it hurts, and _this isn’t fair_.  “No, it wasn’t.  I know bullies when I see ’em.  So just leave us alone.”

They all laugh and push me again.  I almost fall, because they’re way too big and way too strong.  And where’s Dad?  We should run.  We should get away before they hurt our feelings worse or really hurt us.  “You think you can talk back?” the kid snaps.  “We’ll beat the snot out of you, and then you’ll be singing a new song.”

 _Run._   I can’t.  I won’t.  “No.  Go away.”

The kids are getting madder, and I’m thinking I’m going to get punched.  It wouldn’t be the first time.  The biggest one is really flustered by me defying him.  I can tell, because it takes him a second to think of something to say.  “Oh, I get it.  You think you’re like Captain America, standing up to the bullies.  That’s it, isn’t it?  Pathetic.  What is he, _your hero?_ ”  He comes even closer.  He’s a head taller than me, so much older even though it’s just a couple years, and his shadow seems massive.  I don’t back up, even with my little sister cowering behind me.  “He’s not a hero.  I’ll tell you something, since you’re too dumb to figure it out on your own.  You’re never gonna be big, never gonna be anything.  And this?”  He jabbed me again, right into the center of the shield on my shirt.  _“Captain America’s a nobody, just like you.”_

“Leave us alone!”  But now tears burn my eyes, and I can’t stand this, so I take a step back.  There’s something firm but soft behind me, behind us both, and suddenly an even _bigger_ shadow falls over everyone.  The bullies look up.  Their eyes go wide, their mouths fall open, and just like that, they run.

My sister cries, and I turn around.  It’s the man from the museum.  _It’s him._ He’s so big this close, so tall, and he’s towering over us.  His face is tense with disdain, and he’s frowning as he watches the mean kids run away.  Then he looks down on us.  I can’t really think again, staring like a dummy.  He drops down to a crouch in front of us.  “You know what?” he says.  He grins, clasping my shoulder and smoothing back my sister’s hair a little.  “I couldn’t have done that better myself.  Thanks for being a hero.”

Then he takes off his hat, drops it onto my head, and walks away.

Dad comes back in a little bit.  He looks confused at the drying tear tracks on my little sister’s face, which is weird considering her huge smile, as he hands her her hotdog.  “Who gave you the cap, kiddo?” he asks me.

I can’t stop smiling.  “Nobody.”

**THE END**


End file.
